First Colours
by Moonlit Scribbling
Summary: 'AU where everything is black and white until you see your soulmate'. Penelope's lived her whole life in monochrome. Laden with flowers that she can't even see the colour of, she's off to visit a family friend's son in hospital. It honestly feels like something's about to happen, but she can't place what... one-shot.


**Inspired by the prompt - 'au where everything is black and white until you meet your soulmate' which I believe was created by the Tumblr user apharthurkirklands (please correct me if I'm wrong!) which I saw on Pinterest.**

Hospitals.

I hate them.

Cold. Bleak. Noisy. Filled with the sharp smell of hand sanitizer and lit by too-bright lights that seem to burn in to your retinas. And due to the complete whitewashing of every single surface, to me, they are completely blank, save for a few varying shades of greys and blacks that replace what should be colour. I wonder, for not the first time today, why I'm here. Then I remember.

One of my father's best business friends has a son in here. I'm not entirely sure of what happened, but I've read the injury list and it's not pretty. In short, it's a miracle that he's still alive. So here I am, card, flowers and good will in hand, and I have to admit, I'm quite looking forward to seeing the man who lived.

I step out of the taxi, thank and tip the driver, squeeze my way through the revolving doors at the front entrance then make my way to the reception area. The entire family seem to be here, the four remaining sons, grandmother, their father, and my own. I feel almost awkward as I approach them but I swallow it, walking casually up to greet my father . He turns, as if sensing my presence, and his features brighten, the corners of his mouth lifting.

"Penny! There you are!"

Thanks, dad. I had hoped to sneak off upstairs, but everyone's eyes are on me now he's almost shouted my name, and all I want is to hide behind the bunch of colourless flowers cradled in my arms. Being a master of small talk is quite literally my job, but that doesn't mean I have to _enjoy_ it. I will probably one day grow to like it, but that day is definitely not today. I hold myself still, and try to glance meaningfully at the roses, hoping for him to notice. His eyes light up as he sees them, and I can only try to reflect his grin.

"They look beautiful, Pen! Why don't you go on up, they'll need some water."

My shoulders relax, and I can finally return the smile, relieved. "Great,"I reply brightly, "I'll see you all later." I incline my head to the gathered family to my left and I receive a few strained grimaces in return. Stress. I'd recognise how it twists their features from a mile away. My father suddenly moves towards me, and pulls a petal from one of the roses at the corner of the bunch. He looks at it carefully, then at me.

"It's a beautiful colour, yellow."

And with that, he pushes the slightly damp petal in to my palm and turns back to the group, features morphing back in to a serious frown as he re-joins the sombre conversation.

I find myself staring at it as I walk away and up the corridor. It's just another shade of grey to me, quite similar to the taxis I remember catching to get back to my temporary apartment in New York, the first place that I felt was truly my own. I take a second to wonder what the endless traffic jams I sat through would have looked like all in colour. Before I can look closer at the petal, someone brushes past me and the sudden current of air drags it from my fingertips and pulls it down the corridor and out of sight. My shoulders fall slightly. I keep walking.

The corridor is filled with white light, lined with massive floor to ceiling windows looking out on to the gardens that surround this part of the complex. On impulse, I quickly make my way up to the glass and peer out. They're filled to the brim with a variety of flowers and tall, twisting sculptures and I try to admire them, but I can't help but think something's missing. The designs are incredible, especially for a hospital budget but... it just feels plain. Perhaps, I think as I stand there gazing out, colour is an important factor in places like this. I remember when I was younger and looking out on to the manor courtyard just like I am now, staring at all the different shades of black and grey and off-white. To sate my curiosity, I'd asked the gardener to describe the colours that I knew where there to me, yet after a few minutes of gesturing wildly and tripping over his words he gave up and told me it was impossible. He told me to wait, wait for this soulmate that I'd heard of in the fairy tales but Lord knows patience was never my strong point, especially for something that I wasn't truly convinced existed. My patience is stronger now, but the fact that I can't see something that's _right in front of me_ sparks something deep within – some sort of frustrated longing that I can't quench. I sigh quietly and turn away, squint against the glare of the light against the whitewashed walls and make for the elevator.

The elevator's so much worse, and I almost wish I'd taken the stairs. It's just all one colour, a dull, dark, slightly reflective grey metal. It's quite claustrophobic, and I can suddenly feel every single presence within ten centimetres of my person. However, it seems to be the same for the people around me. They keep taking glances at themselves in the mirror on the back panel, as if to remind themselves that colour still exists in their worlds. Absently, I take a quick glance at myself. I wonder if I would actually like the colour of my dress, if the blooms in my hand are really as bright and cheerful as my mother claimed they were when she helped me pick them out this morning. I wonder what my own preferred colour actually is. I wonder if I'll ever know.

The elevator finally reaches the third floor – neurology – and we all spill out, straight in to the corridor, setting out in different directions to get to the five different wards on this floor. I look left, right, then find and set off for the ninth ward door, dodging oncoming beds, doctors and nurses, hoping absently that I won't get trampled by the sudden storm of footsteps behind me. I finally reach the door and press the bell, suddenly overcome by nerves. I can't tell why – I know his interests so conversation will be easy, I know why he's in this awful place and it's instinct to know what I should and shouldn't say to avoid making this an upsetting or just plain depressing conversation. So why am I shaking?

The light by on the security panel by the door illuminates, and I hear a small click as the lock gives way. I toe the door open with my foot and I squeeze through, one eye on the flowers, which I shift awkwardly in my arms to get one hand free to close the door behind me. Successful, I turn gingerly around and cast a look around the new corridor.

It's almost silent in here, and I'm glad, it's a welcome relief from the chaos of the rest of the hospital. A couple of patients stroll up and down, some with gauze poking out of pyjama shirts and others stopping here and there to lean heavily on frames and crutches of all sorts of different sizes. Nurses, however, are the main presence, striding in and out of rooms, laden with files and equipment and clipboards, shoes scuffing quietly on the floor. I shift slightly in my own, take a breath, then head to the reception desk.

A younger nurse sits behind the tall counter top, tapping away silently at a computer, eyes heavy and not entirely focused. I cough gently to get her attention.

"I'm here to see the patient in room two. Is that okay?"

She swivels around and smiles at me, but it doesn't reach her eyes. She stands swiftly and gestures further down the corridor, walking briskly to the edge of the desk and stepping down off of the platform towards me.

"Just this way. He's already been fed and watered so you're free to see him. He'll be happy to see you – he's been complaining of 'loneliness' all day, despite having seen every member of his immediate family in the course of one hour!"

I smile a little and quickly follow the nurse's path through the groups of medical staff and patients in the corridor, my clicking heels adding to the cacophony of footsteps. "I've been told he's quite the social spud," I reply lightly, gripping the flowers slightly tighter to stop my shaking hands. I spot the nurse staring at them, and I wince at my thoughtlessness. "Sorry," I say, stopping to turn to her, "I forgot to ask if flowers were permitted on this ward."

She pauses, chews her lip for a second and then shrugs. "Sure, he's in a private room. Just ask a nurse in a green uniform to get you a jug from the kitchen."

My face flushes and I look down at the roses, embarrassed. "I – I'm colour-blind?" My voice tilts up slightly in question – 'Colour-blind' doesn't exactly fit, but I'm not entirely sure what the medical term is for 'not having seen your soulmate yet' even though the phenomenon happens to everyone now. Her eyes widen, and she glances around the ward.

"Oh I'm sorry! Sorry I just assumed..." she trails off and points at a middle-aged nurse sorting through a cart of files at the side of the corridor. "There! Just ask Mel if you see her again, and if not... just ask anyone with that … hue?"

I nod vigorously to show my understanding and we keep walking down, a slightly more awkward air between us. Finally, we reach a small room at the end, hidden away from all of the hustle and bustle of the ward reception. She knocks quickly and puts her head through the door and I hold back, clutching the flowers even tighter, my heart suddenly in my throat. It's like something's about to happen, but I can't place what...

The nurse's voice jolts me out of my thoughts. "Hey sir," she greets easily, voice lightening slightly, "You've got a visitor out here. Okay if I let her in?"

There's a rustling of bed sheets and an audible hiss, and I wince. The nurse goes in to help, probably to help him sit up. It's a wonder that he can, after what I heard he had to have done to repair the wreckage of his spine. I'm glad for him, I know I couldn't bear to be lying straight for as long as he has, even if he spent half of his recovery in a coma. A voice with a distinct American drawl sounds, and my breath catches.

"Sure, I could use somebody to talk to."

The nurse laughs and appears at the door, propping it open with a cardboard box at her feet. She walks out and gives me a thumbs up.

"You've been granted entry," she says, with, for the first time today, a real smile. "I'll leave you two to get on. Call if you need anything." She goes to walk away, but turns back, with a look of almost pity twisting her features. "For the record," she says quietly, "the flowers are a beautiful colour."

I look down at the grey, and wonder if the recipient will be able to see it. For some reason, I hope not. I look back up, and I'm just about to ask what yellow's like but she's gone. I blink, looking around in surprise. How did... Suddenly, a voice emanates from the room, jerking me out of my reverie.

"You coming in then? Gee, I hope I'm not talking to myself... again..."

I gasp and quickly circle the door frame, an awkward grin forming along with what was probably an embarrassing blush high on my cheeks. I look straight in to his eyes, my attempt at confidence betrayed by my shaking, and hold up the flowers.

"Sorry! I got distracted by these! I'm Pen-"

The flowers land in a crumpled heap on the floor.

Oh my _God_.

It's like a switch has been flicked, so fast I barely noticed...

He's in colour.

He's – is that – blonde? But his eyes -

My own eyes widen painfully as I take him in, his hair, his skin, his hands as they type away at the blue – is that blue? - laptop balanced on his knees and his – what colour is that? - bracelet sliding up and down his forearm as he pokes at the screen, a glass of a vividly coloured liquid in his right hand and... my palm crashes against the door frame to steady myself as the room around me slowly, beautifully, blooms in to colour.

The curtains, the magazines, the chair, the clothes hanging out of the little cupboard, the pale green of the blanket, the rainbow of colours on the gaudy shirt slung over a suitcase in the corner... my eyes sting and smart as the monochrome fades, little spots briefly bloom across my eyes as finally, finally after all these years, _I can see colour_.

It's magnificent.

His eyes – the same wonderfully warm shade as the coffee steaming on the side table – snap up towards me as the flowers – which _wow_ are bright and seem to _glow_ – crash to the floor. He blinks, once, twice, as if to clear his vision, then freezes completely, hands coming to rest stiffly on the keys. He stares at me, jaw slack, then slowly, at the door – which I knew was bright, bright red – to the light of the laptop in front of him, then to the flowers on the floor, then back up to me. They linger on my dress until he realises where he's staring, and then snap back up to my own. The muscles in his jaw shift and his Adam's apple bobs up and down as he swallows.

"Shame about the flowers, they were a really nice-" he struggles for a word, then a smile begins to form as his eyebrows raise, almost disappearing in to his hairline. "They're a real nice colour."

A massive weight falls off my shoulders and I finally heave a breath in relief.

He sees it too.

I bend down carefully to gather them up and I can feel his eyes on me. I pull the package back in to the crook of my arm and I can't help but draw them closer; the brightness of this new colour causes a nagging ache between my brows but I can't seem to care, it's so... I can barely find the words to describe it. I understand how the gardener felt now it's... incredible.

"I think that's yellow."

I look back up to the figure in the bed and I can't stop the grin that tugs at my cheeks at the level of wonder that's lighting up his eyes. I stand carefully up and walk over to him, gently setting them down in front of the now completely discarded laptop. Our hands touch briefly and I can't help the shivers that spread up from that tiny point of contact. He plucks a petal from the nearest bloom and brings it comically close to his face, scrutinizing it, turning it over and over in his hand.

"I used to have a little submarine toy when I was younger that was the same shade as this before..." he breaks off, and gives me a tiny smile. "Before I saw you." He looks a little panicked for a moment, eyes searching my own. "You can see this too, right?"

I nod, my voice cracking as I struggle to respond. "Yes... it all came in to place when... when I saw you."

His warm eyes are gentle as he looks at me, relief softening them slightly. It's rare, but sometimes your soulmate doesn't see colour when you do, meaning they're destined for another – I can easily share his relief when I realise I'll never be subjected to that heartbreak. Nervously, and for once completely unsure what to say, I shakily dig my hands in to my skirt, twisting the material between the pad of my thumb and forefinger. Struck with an idea, I unclip the flower pin holding up my fringe, letting it fall down slightly, and hold it out to him, passing it between my fingers anxiously.

"My mother told me that this was pink."

We sit in silence for a few minutes, both admiring the softness of the colour, and I suddenly realise that this shade makes up the bulk of my wardrobe. I decide that I like it – calm, yet as bold as the yellow blooms resting on the bed sheets. He turns from me briefly and looks around the room, taking long glances at anything with a slightest hint of colour, but in a room like this, there isn't much. As if reading my thoughts he voices this, gesturing widely at the surroundings.

"For my first room in colour, it isn't very... colourful."

We look at each other and start laughing, and suddenly feeling braver than before, I shuffle around to perch on the edge of the bed, careful not to interfere with the collection of tubing that snakes up from the drip stand and disappears up the sleeves of his shirt. It's plain white, but we're both more interested in the bright mystery colour of the bracelet on his wrist.

"Red?"

"Orange."

We laugh again and I'm struck by how in sync we seem to be, thinking of the same things at the same time and... maybe this soulmate thing is real after all. Maybe we are meant to be – just like the complimentary colours I'm beginning to notice around me. The image of the sculptures and flowerbeds from earlier come to my mind, and I look around for a window, suddenly yearning to see the gardens that were so recently in black and white. But the only one in the room faces a brick wall, and my shoulders fall with disappointment.

"You know," I say, staring at the brick lit up by what must be the now midday sun, "I can't wait to go outside."

He pushes his laptop closed, taking a moment to admire the cool colour of the lid, swiping a hand across it, deep in thought. He looks over it to a blue-black wheelchair tucked away in the corner of the room, seeming to ponder it for a moment, before turning to me.

"I can go in my chair now," he begins, half to me and half to himself, shifting slightly to pull himself slowly up. He leans over and yanks his jacket off of the back of the nearby chair – the same colour, I realise, as the roses. He holds up his garment with a smile, nodding his head towards the door. "How about we go for a stroll?"

His grin is infectious and I spring up for the door to call back that nurse to help us, a slightly stupid smile causing my cheeks to ache with its intensity. But before I can go, a warm hand catches my forearm.

"With all this excitement," he says, staring at the contrast between his tanned skin and my pale wrist, "I forgot to ask what your name was."

"Penelope," I reply, "And you're Gordon, aren't you?"

"That's me!"

He pulls himself completely up and deposits the laptop on the side table, then twists round to clumsily pull his jacket over his shoulders. After a thought, he nudges my arm gently, gracing me again with those warm, decidedly brown, eyes.

"Glad I met you, Penelope."

My reply is easy. "Likewise, Gordon."

And with that, I help him shift his jacket properly on to his shoulders and make for the door.

 **Thank you for reading!**

 **\- Moonlit Scribbling**


End file.
